


The Rider Takes Over

by Sunshine_Magnet



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comicon, F/M, Ghost Rider - Freeform, Robbie Reyes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_Magnet/pseuds/Sunshine_Magnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a geek's dream come true to work at Comicon.  It's a woman's wet dream come to life when she meets the inspiration for the newest Ghost Rider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rider Takes Over

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as: The time we saw Zayn geek out over comic books and could totally relate.

Ava checks her email frantically. Twelve o'clock, on the dot, May 1. Eight weeks before San Diego's famed Comicon, which she submitted an application to be a volunteer for and the very moment she is supposed to know if her application has been approved.

Refresh.

Twelve oh-one. Refresh. She fidgets, first mussing with her hair, then chewing on a perfectly sculpted fingernail.

Refresh.

"Holy shit," she breathes, staring at her inbox. "I got in," she mutters. "I got in!" She pushes back from her desk chair, jumping to her feet in her tiny cubicle and throwing her arms up in the air. After doing a little jig, she flops back into her desk chair and picks up her iPhone. She quickly scrolls to her Favorites and dials.

"Guess who just got selected to be a volunteer at Comicon?"

Her best friend, Amelie, laughs on the other end. "You are probably the biggest dork I know. But, yay," she giggles. "Are your bags already packed? Do you get to wear costumes and wait in line for autographs?"

Ava rolls her eyes. "My bags aren't packed, it's not until the end of July," she snorts, ignoring the lie. Her carry-on is full of clothes ripe for the occasion, just in case, in the corner of her closet. "I don't know if I’ll get to do any of the stuff, but they said I’ll get another email closer to time with my official assignments. I don't care, though. I'm going!" She actually squees with delight into the phone.

Truthfully, she didn't care how she got there; she just wanted to experience the convention. It's the sole reason she put in an application to be a volunteer - tickets sold out so quickly every year, and for the last three years, Ava had submitted a volunteer application. This was her year; she was finally getting her chance to geek out for three straight days around other geeks - err, fans.

She books a hotel room, consistent with the email's instructions, thankful they reserved a block of rooms for their volunteers. San Diego was notorious for either not having enough rooms for the convention or raising the prices so high that no one could afford the rooms in the first place. With minimal damage to her credit card, she leans back and decides today? Today has been a good day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight am, Pacific Standard Time, July 23. Ava stands in her khaki shorts and blue Comicon-issued t-shirt in a conference room for briefing. Her assignment for the day is to escort, gasp, the Marvel Comics team and basically be their unpaid bitch. Fetch water, hold out chairs, carry luggage, whatever. If someone from the team asks, Ava is to do with a smile on her face.

And for Marvel Comics, she totally will.

She plays with the lanyard around her neck as she walks to the reception suite designated for the VIP's. She knows they are revealing a new character at today's event and she's pretty pumped to just be a part of it all.

She pats her cell phone in her pocket for reassurance. She's been briefed - "you are a volunteer, please act professionally, blah blah blah." Ava's a fangirl. If the opportunity presents, she's totally asking for a picture.

"Felipe Smith," she asks, glancing at the group of four people seated at the Marvel table. "I'm Ava, your escort for today's event." One of the men, Felipe, the head of Marvel's Art Department, she assumes, stands and shakes her hand. 

"Glad to meet you," he smiles. "This is Mark Paniccia, one of our artists, Tradd Moore, our writer, and Zayn Malik, our new Ghost Rider." Ava inhales sharply through the introductions, forcing a smile on her face. 

Holy hell, but the new Ghost Rider is ridiculously hot.

He stands, Zayn, dressed all in dark colors - grey jeans, t-shirt and black hoodie. His hair is fabulously coiffed, black with a bleached stripe in the middle. She almost swallows her tongue when he makes eye contact - dazzling brown eyes under lashes so long, they are almost tickling his cheek. She realizes she's staring at his pronounced jaw line, his scruff begging for her fingers to jut reach out and - 

"Everything alright?" Zayn asks, British accent pronounced. 

She nods. "Everything's fine," she stammers. She turns her attention back to Felipe, thankful for the distraction. "So basically, I'm at your beck and call today. Anything I can do to make this appearance run more smoothly, just say the word." Felipe thanks her, but it’s Zayn who speaks.

"I could use a smoke break."

Ava's eyes widen, first looking for approval from the rest of the group before turning to Zayn. After receiving nods, she nods herself. "OK, let's go. We'll be back in ten."

She leaves the Marvel group at the table and escorts Zayn down the corridor. "There's another hallway this way," she rambles, trying to fill the air with anything besides tension.

Zayn Malik is sex on legs.

He follows her, hands in his pockets, glance turned downward. Well, that's a lie. His glance is firmly fixed on her pert ass.

They reach the fire door, leading them into the warm California sunshine. "Want one?" He offers her his pack of smokes, one already plucked between his lips. "I don't like to smoke alone," he smiles.

She's stuck on his luscious, pink lips. 

Even though she shouldn't, she finds herself reaching for one anyway. He pulls a Zippo out of his pocket and flicks it open, lighting her cigarette first before turning to his own. "I wish I had something a bit stronger," he mutters, watching the end burn.

Ava arches an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Why? What do they have you doing? Standing prettily?" She covers her mouth the second she realizes what she's said.

He laughs darkly. "Something like that, yeah. Signing autographs, I don't know. They want me to wear a costume."

She swallows thickly. "Um, what kind of costume?" Costumes are her weakness. She thinks about her Princess Leia slave costume hanging in the closet in her hotel room. You never know when the opportunity might present itself, she thinks, and she is nothing if not prepared.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, pausing. "It's not really a costume, I mean, I'm dressed like the character already," he shrugs. "There's a leather jacket with spikes and chains. I guess it's not that bad. They're better to look at, I guess."

Ava shakes her head. "Agreed. But, it doesn't sound so bad." She finds it difficult to maintain eye contact with Zayn; his gaze is intense. "So, you're the new Ghost Rider, huh? How did that happen?"

Zayn laughs, this time a bit lighter. "Um, let's just say I'm a big fan."

Ava eyes him curiously. "So am I, but you don't see me in their next comic." She watches him carefully, taking in every inch of his appearance. "Wait." She recognizes him now - the blonde in his hair and the scruff threw her off. "You're in that band."

He nods, stubbing out his cigarette. "Something like that. You done?" He turns back toward the door, Ava rushing to keep up with him, mentally chastising herself the entire way back to the reception suite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight bottles of Fiji water. Four black Sharpies. A bacon sandwich for Felipe, a bag of chips for Thadd and hot tea for Mark.

A request for a massage from Zayn. She's caught him staring at her at least five different times - not that she counted.

Ever the dutiful volunteer, Ava fulfills each request, finding an on-call massage therapist and booking an hour's massage when the session is slated to be over. She's thought of everything, answered every question and smiled for the last three hours.

She smiled even larger when Zayn came out in the leather studded jacket and tried not to moan. He looked damn hot as Robbie Reyes, that was for damn sure. When they did the unveiling, Zayn looked almost larger than life for a moment, all sultry glare and pouty lips.

She stood by, watching the group of men meet the fans, many of whom waited much of their twilight hours in line for this very moment. She gets it, she does, but it's still surreal to watch.

There's what seems like hundreds of young girls in line, solely for the purpose of meeting Zayn. It's cute, she thinks, even if he's a bit aloof.

When the appearance is over, Ava motions to lead the gentlemen from the room and back to the reception suites in the belly of the conference center. Zayn lags behind, dragging his feet, playing with his cell phone. She stops him after the others have entered the room.

"I've arranged for a massage therapist to meet you here in just a few minutes. I wasn't sure where you might want to have it done, though." Smiles. Professional. Not awkward, at all.

Zayn's eyebrows rise slightly. He steps closer to Ava, backing her into the corner outside the door to the suite. "How about your room? I don't really have much privacy."

She swallows her surprise, trying to hide her reaction. "My room? But, um," she stutters. "I'm just at the Hilton Garden Inn. Probably not your speed at all." He's hugely famous, Zayn Malik - a member of that crazy popular boy band. She googled him during his appearance. She knows exactly who he is now. She's willing to bet her volunteer badge he's got his own room at the Four Seasons or The Grand Del Mar, or somewhere else equally fancy and expensive.

"Your room," he reiterates. "Can you get us out of here?" She's powerless under his stare. She nods as he turns to walk toward the exit. "Well, come on, then." He reaches for her hand. She navigates them through the convention center, not knowing when he covered his quiff with a baseball cap, but she reckons it's to keep him from being recognized. It's working. They escape unnoticed and walk the short distance to her hotel.

"Um, if you give me a minute, I'll call that massage therapist and have them meet you here, then. They were going to the reception suite," she says, swiping the screen of her phone. He grabs her phone from her hands and slides it into his pocket. 

"Forget it."

She nods. "Ok."

"Open the door, Ava."

She locates her key card and follows Zayn's instructions. She's not taken two steps inside before the door closes and Zayn spins her around to face him. He banks on her shock, grabbing her neck and pulling her close, lips mashing against hers. He swallows her gasp, the sound muffled by his mouth, his tongue dancing with hers.

"Zayn -- What --" she stammers, pulling back, cheeks pink. 

He leans back against the door, eyes smug. "What do you mean, what?" He mimics her vocal intonation, a smirk on his face.

Ava stares, slack-jawed. She shakes her head, her protest dying in her throat. Gathering her wits, she steps closer to him, one leg between his, one arm reaching for his hip before she leans close to his face. "After being a dick all day, now you think you can waltz in here and get whatever you want?"

He meets her gaze with a cocky one of his own. "Basically. Yes." He looks down briefly, acknowledging his hard-on pressed against her thigh. "Am I wrong?"

She tilts her head, thinking, feeling his hips rock into hers. She acts on instinct, reaching for his belt, tugging it loose before unfastening his jeans. She lowers the zipper, pushing them down his thighs as she rests on her knees. Her fingers trace the tattoos - a pistol on his hip, "don't think I won't" in quotes. She glances back up to him beneath her lashes. 

"Fuck yes," he groans, closing his eyes, wrapping his fingers in her hair and pushing her head to where he wants her. She teases the skin under the waistband of his boxer briefs before sliding them down his legs and releasing his cock. He flinches, cock bobbing in front of her face, the tip wet with arousal.

"What do you think those little girls would say about Ghost Rider now?" She teases before taking him in, deep, letting him hit the back of her throat. Zayn moans, his head hitting the door with a thud. She bobs her head, her fingers massaging his balls and teasing his ass. She's unsure where this bravado has come from - maybe it's Zayn, maybe it's been all of those dark looks all day, maybe it's the costume in her closet - whatever it is, she's harnessing it. 

By all accounts, Zayn approves. He's still holding her head, however, his grip has loosened. His other hand is under his hoodie, pinching his nipple. He's moaning appreciatively, either due to her actions or his own, she doesn't care. She increases her rhythm, sucking the head of his cock, swiping her tongue down his length, swirling around the sensitive skin. She teases his hole with her pinkie, testing him, testing herself. His hips jerk forward. Ava takes that as a sign to continue, so she does, the tip of her finger sliding in his hole. Zayn's grip on her head tightens again, his hips thrusting forward. His fingers tap her neck, a signal she heeds as she opens her throat and swallows, thick ribbons of come coating her throat. He pulls out, his dick streaking come across her cheek, grabbing her and lifting her to her feet.

"Bed. Now." He pushes her toward the bed in the center of the room, trying his best not to trip over the pants around his ankles. He awkwardly steps out of them, holding on to the closet door and pulling it open as he leans. He catches himself, but not before catching sight of the costume Ava's hung there. "Um, what the fuck is this?"

Ava blushes on the bed, her shorts long forgotten and her t-shirt on the floor. "What does it look like?"

He eyes the costume before turning back to her, that predatory look in his eyes returning. "Put it on."

She grabs it from him and steps into the bathroom, moving quickly to put on the bra top with flowing skirt over a pair of briefs. She wishes now that the pieces were separates; she's afraid this costume may not survive Zayn. When she steps out, he's lying on the bed completely nude, covered in tattoos and a smile, stroking his dick, hard again, she notes.

"Nice. Come here, Princess Leia," he beckons with a motion of his finger. He stares at her reverently, eyes roving over her exposed skin, lingering on the gold threading on the costume. His fingers trace the pattern over her breasts before moving to her hips. He pulls her in for a kiss, this one sweeter, if possible - slower, tender. He pulls her down on top of him before rolling over and allowing her to lay on her back under him. She glances at his multitude of tattoos, shapes, cartoons, animals, words, a half-sleeve; she's in awe of his artwork. He notices her staring and turns bashful, pink tinting his cheeks. "I s'pose it's my turn now," he says, voice gravelly, hot on her ear. He nips down her throat to her collarbone, fingers teasing her skin under the intricate bra. He slides it down just so her breasts rest on top, nipples pointed at attention. He takes one in his mouth, sucking hard enough to change it's color, before biting - the mixture of pleasure and pain sending a pool of moisture straight between her legs.

She claws at his back, pulling him closer. He slithers down like a snake, leaving kisses and bites along her stomach to her hip bone. One hand goes under the flowing skirt, fingers searching for her clit, rubbing at the bundle of nerves there. Ava arches her back, moaning appreciation, whimpering under his touch. "I know I could make you come apart with my hand, but I think you'd like it better on my cock, don't you?"

He feels her gush and groans. "Or maybe we'll do both," he whispers, sucking another bite onto her hip, as he works her over with his fingers. He adds a second finger, testing, teasing, before adding a third. She stills when she feels his pinkie at her ass, relaxing some when he kisses her again. She moans at the pressure when his small finger works its way in, the push-pull with his other fingers bringing her close to the edge. His hips are rocking into her thigh, cock hard and leaking. "Fuck yes," he moans, watching her come apart under his touch. 

"Oh God, Zayn, God," she pants, hips rocking, pressure building. She concentrates on the feel of his long, skinny fingers, knuckles sliding past her sensitive ridges and she shatters - white hot heat moving up her spine leaving shivers in their wake.

His fingers still and withdraw, his mouth closes over hers. "That was fucking beautiful." She's too wrecked to worry about the compliment, she's willing her heart rate to slow to acceptable levels again.

"Turn around and hold on," he growls in her ear. Her eyes pop open with surprise. "Now." She sits up, scooting out from under him before standing on the ground. She slips the bottom half of her costume off, letting it pool at her feet. She maneuvers in front of him, on her hands and knees, ass high in the air. She flinches at the sting of his hand, relaxes when he rubs a soothing palm over her asscheek. Her nipples harden painfully when he smacks her ass a second time.

"Zayn, please," she cries, begging. With one hand on her back, he drives into her, filling her, pushing her own hips forward. Her head drops down and she pushes back. "Yes," she hisses as his hips move. 

He fucks into her, filling her, slamming into her hard, meeting her own resistance as she pushes back into him. He leans over her, fingers reaching for her nipples, pinching and twisting as she moans under him. The sound of skin slapping echoes in the small hotel room, the mattress squeaks under their movements. His fingers trail down her hip, over her knee, down her calf; he pulls her foot up, changing the angle slightly. "Fuck, yes," he moans, rocking into her faster still before pulsing inside her, her muscles clenched down around him. She follows soon after, body twitching after he pinches her clit, sucking a spot just below her ear.

When he pulls out, she collapses on the bed, face down, knees underneath her, bra still below her breasts, digging into her ribcage uncomfortably. She doesn't care. She's too blissed out to care, what after having two orgasms in roughly the span of twenty minutes? That has to be a new record, she muses. Zayn lies down next to her on his back, chest heaving, glistening with sweat from exertion. He reaches for her, wrapping his arm around her and turning on his side to face her.

She chuckles. "I didn't take you for a cuddler, Ghost Rider."

He rolls his eyes, fidgets with his hair before kissing her soundly. "There's probably a lot you didn't learn on Google."

She inhales sharply. 

"I saw you on your phone. If there was something you wanted to know, you could've asked."

"Oh," she protests. "No way. You threw up a wall the second I recognized you, and to be fair, that's just it - I recognized you, like you were familiar. Not that I knew exactly who you were. You were a guy I'd seen on TV before," she explains.

"Right," he agrees, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "So Wikipedia didn't tell you I'm a cuddler. What else did you not know?"

She recognizes the playful look in his eyes - they're lighter in color, his cheeks pinkening again. "I'll have to admit, I was surprised by the anal play."

He laughs out loud, a hearty, deep laugh. "If that surprised you, then I definitely have more in store for you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
